


Hold on, I Still Need You

by HawkeyeRules



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Broken Bones, Canon Jewish Character, Charles is a softie, Erik Lehnsherr Has Issues, Everyone is just friends, F/M, Fever, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Not very well, Peter can sing, Psychological Torture, Raven’s still alive, Torture, and feelings, but he tries, but is also very torture-able, but those are hidden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24494167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawkeyeRules/pseuds/HawkeyeRules
Summary: After the events of Dark Phoenix, Erik and Charles think they are safe in Paris. But fate has other plans, fate in the form of the government.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff, Erik Lehnsherr/Magda (X-Men), mentioned
Comments: 20
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just some hurt/comfort with my favorites boys!

“Charles!” Erik shouted, running across the hall and banging on the door. “Charles, wake up!” 

*What?* Charles asked, the thought fuzzy and dim. 

“You need to wake up!” Erik both thought and shouted the words.

He ran back to his room and picked up a small bag near the door. Years of experience had taught him the importance of having an escape planned and ready, but Charles didn’t have that same experience. 

With the bag slung over his shoulder, Erik burst into Charles’ room. His friend was in his wheelchair, but had yet to grab anything.

Erik threw a handful of clothes into a bag, followed by toiletries.

“Erik, what’s going on?” Charles asked, but Erik could feel the soft probing into his mind. Charles would find what he needed.

There was a sharp gasp and Charles said, “We need to go.”

“Really?” Erik snapped, but he lacked the proper malice in his words. Fear was starting to take over, and he pushed it aside. He had to be strong, both for Charles and himself. This was not a new scenario for him, he knew what he was doing, this was routine.

But he had never had another person to think of. 

He felt the metal of Charles’ chair—sending up a prayer of thanks that he hadn’t changed it to plastic or something crazy like that—and pulled him along as he raced down the hallway. Erik remembered seeing an exit sign . . . there!

Behind him, shouts sounded and Charles said, “I don’t mean to rush you, Erik, but . . .”

“I know,” he growled.

The metal door warped, then exploded off its hinges. Without slowing, Erik raced through it, Charles obviously right behind him. Erik wasted one thought in the disappointment of no dramatic exit before he had to concentrate. The effort of pulling Charles while trying to navigate the back alleys was taking its toll on him.

*Erik, you need to rest* Charles thought softly. 

Erik snarled as Charles forced his limbs to stop moving.

“Leave me alone, Xavier,” he said.

“I’m sorry, but if you keep this up, they will catch us. You need to rest.”

“And you don’t?”

Erik turned to see Charles smile. “I wasn’t the one that got us here, was I?”

He had to smile at that, and took a deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, Charles was right. But he was never going to admit it, not to his face. 

After his heart calmed, Erik looked around them. The alley they were in was wide, but the clutter around the sides made it feel smaller. He could sense the metal around him, their songs calling out to him, daring him to use them, shape them, destroy them.

He shook his head, focusing instead on the city noises around them. 

Paris was unusually quiet, no car horns or people talking. He guessed he had instinctively pulled them towards a darker part of the city, and regretted his choice. Him alone could pass, but not Charles. People would remember a man in a wheelchair, and people in this place would say anything for the right amount of money.

“How many people can you control?” Erik asked abruptly, turning towards Charles. 

He shrugged. “Several dozen, maybe. More if I had Cerebro.”

“You’ll just have to do it without Cerebro.”

“What are you planning, Erik?”

Erik told him and Charles nodded. 

“It could work, but we’ll have to move fast. I’m not all powerful. I can only control them for a short amount of time.”

“That’s all we need.”

They leave the alley and slipped through the crowded streets. Occasionally, someone would look directly at them, but Charles was keeping up his end and they weren’t noticed. Or so Erik hoped. As Charles was so fond of reminding people, human minds were delicate places and many things could go wrong. 

Erik led them towards a run-down bus stop and left Charles outside while he went in to buy tickets. The ticket seller was tired and barely glanced at Erik. All he was interested in was the money. 

“Charles,” Erik said, leaving the building. “I have—”

He froze. The air was alive with the sound of metal calling to him, but not just any metal. Metal shaped, molded, into guns.

“Stand down!” a harsh voice called.

A man stepped out of the shadows, one hand around Charles’ neck, the other pointing a gun at his head. Charles was limp, his eyes closed, in the man’s grasp, and Erik gritted his teeth, no longer trying to hide. 

“Put him down!” Erik responded, clenching his hands into fists.

The metal around him responded to his call, except for the gun in the man’s hands. With mounting dread, Erik reached for it with his mind, and found he couldn’t touch it. His will slipped off it like it was coated in oil.

The man smiled and raised Charles an inch. “Nice try, freak, but this’s one weapon you won’t be takin’. Plastic, ya see? Stupid freaks.”

He spat on the ground and Erik’s anger bubbled over. Without thinking, he threw a large bus at the men surrounding him, taking out half their number. 

There was a gunshot and Erik instinctively grabbed the bullet with his mind. It was metal and he screamed as he fought to stop it before it entered Charles’ skull.

The man grinned. “Bet you can’t stop two bullets.”

Sweat trickled down Erik’s face and into his shirt. He gritted his teeth as everything in him focused on the small piece of metal, fighting to keep it still. 

“Kneel,” the man demanded.

Keeping his focus and gaze on the gun, Erik slowly did so. A distant part of himself, one that wasn’t occupied, hated what he was doing, but if it kept both of them alive, so be it.

“Good.” The man released Charles and he collapsed to the ground. For one heart-stopping moment, Erik thought he was dead, but a small moan escaped his lips and Erik breathed a sigh of relief. 

He fully grasped the bullet with his thoughts, directing it up and at the man, but another gunshot rang out. 

He sensed the bullet headed for him, but it was too late. It grazed the side of his head and he cried out in pain. 

The bullet dropped to the ground, something sharp and thin stabbed Erik’s neck, and the last thing he thought before losing consciousness was why the bullet looked like a bloody coin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse. Much worse

The world was quiet, broken only by a heartbeat. 

Erik groaned and gritted his teeth against a pounding headache. He had been drugged, and exerted himself. Why had he done that? Had he been running? Who was—Charles! 

They had Charles! 

He sat up with a shout and the room spun. The wound on his head reopened and he grimaced as blood slid down the side of his face. 

Erik slowly got to his feet and looked around him. 

The cell he was in was bare, with a stone slab in the corner, but no pillow or blanket. Erik shivered at the sight and wrapped his coat tighter around him. 

There was no metal in the cell, or anywhere around it. Even the buttons on his coat had been removed, along with the knife in his boots and his belt. The absence of metal unnerved him, as if he had been robbed of his clothes or his senses. 

A scream cut through his thoughts, a scream he knew all too well. 

Glimpses of a sunny beach flashed through his mind, white sand with blue water lapping at it. The same scream had happened there. A gunshot; the metal hurling towards him; a scream rending the air; Charles falling, falling, falling; sand spraying up where he fell. And that awful look of pain and sadness and overwhelming hurt on Charles’ face as he stared at Erik. 

Erik knew that sound because it was the reminder of his biggest mistake. The sound had burned itself in his mind, and he screamed back, focusing all his rage and anger in the noise.

He swore at his unknown captors in every language he knew, cursing them and the day they were born. It did nothing and no one came, but it drowned out the screams, though Erik knew they were still there.

Hours later, he collapsed against a wall, his voice utterly gone. The screams were too, and he took rasping breaths, ears straining for any noise. 

A door opened somewhere to his left and footsteps sounded. By the echoing, Erik judged it was a hallway outside his cell, probably long, and not made of metal. The footsteps stopped next to his cell and a door creaked open.

There was a grunt, then the sound of a body hitting the floor. Erik moved over to his left, pressing his hand against the wall as if he could move it through sheer will alone.

“Charles?” he asked, his voice coming in a raspy whisper. He coughed and tried again. “Charles?”

There was a groan, so faint he almost missed it. 

“Erik?”

“Charles!” He couldn’t help but shout in relief.

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know. Are you okay?”

He heard Charles laugh, but it was short and broke off into a fit of coughing. 

“I’m fine,” he finally said. “A bit banged up, but I’m fine.”

Erik rested his head against the cool stone, wishing there was something he could do. He didn’t even know how bad Charles was hurt, for goodness’ sake! And if Charles was anything like the insufferable children at his school, he would lie about how bad his injuries were. 

More footsteps walked down the corridor and Erik turned his head towards the door. It swung open and three men walked in, the man at the front the same one who had threatened Charles.

“Heard you screamin’, freak,” he said. “Bet you’re pretty tired right now.”

Erik got to his feet and stared him down. While Erik was taller, the other man had something that glinted in his eyes that made Erik wary of him. This was not a man to be crossed.

“I’ve been sent ta ask ya some questions and I’d be mighty pleased if you answered them.” The man gestured and the other two men stepped forwards, one of them holding a thin baton in his hands. 

Erik tensed, ready to fight, but there was no metal. He clenched his hands instead, ready for a fight.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, freak,” the man warned.

“Good thing you’re not me,” Erik snarled before leaping at the two men.

His fist caught the first one on the chin and he collapsed in a heap, eyes closed. Without pausing, Erik turned towards the other man, who dropped the baton and came at him with both fists raised.

Erik laughed at his mistake and dodged the blow. He drew his arm back to punch the man, but collapsed as pain laced up his leg. The man who had been unconscious stood over him, the baton now in his hand. 

Erik cursed in pain as the baton was pressed against his side. The electricity racked his body and he clenched his teeth, trying to control the spasms of his body.

“Now,” the man said, kneeling next to Erik and smirking. “I want you to tell me where the freak called Jean Grey is.”

Erik would’ve laughed if he was able. This man really thought he knew where the Phoenix was, or that he cared?

“I . . . don’t . . . know,” he gritted out. 

The man laughed. “Come now, I know when you’re lying. You travel with the professor and the Phoenix is his student. You really expect me to believe you?”

Erik swore against the pain, willing himself not to cry out. He didn’t want Charles knowing what was going on. 

*Erik?*

*Stay—Charles stay ouuuaagh!*

His thoughts were interrupting by another burst of pain, this one stronger than the others.

“The freak won’t talk,” he faintly heard the man said. “We’ll make him.”

The pain washed over Erik against and he screamed, the noise tearing at his throat. He cursed the humans and himself and his weakness. Why, oh why, did Charles want to save these people? All they caused was pain and anger and hurt and took those you loved away from you.

Darkness crept around the corners of his vision and Erik gladly welcomed it, closing his eyes against the pain.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! Things get worse!

Time no longer seemed to work. It felt like days since they had been taken, but Erik estimated it was only a day or two. He saw no one in that time, but was able to keep in contact with Charles through his telepathy. Both of them tried to hide their wounds from the other, but the link went both ways and Erik soon learned that Charles had at least a broken arm, though he never complained.

Most of the time, Erik sat in the back corner, coat wrapped tight around him. He kept telling himself this was just like the Pentagon, but there was no speedster to get him out this time. He stopped trying to sleep after approximately twenty hours. Every time he closed his eyes, the stone walls would shrink in around him and memories of mud and German and pain would flood his mind. 

Erik awoke from a fitful sleep to the sound of boots thundering down the hallway outside the cell. He estimated several dozen soldiers and wondered why they were coming. 

He had his answer moments later when the door opened and five soldiers entered his cell. Erik was roughly hauled to his feet and forced out the door. He couldn’t see Charles anywhere and was relieved to see that his cell was still closed. At least he would be spared whatever was about to happen. 

Erik was shoved into a large room and his heart sunk when he saw Charles lying unconscious in the middle.

“Charles!” he called out and tried to run to him, the floor replaced for a moment by white sand. 

Ten feet from Charles, he hit something and fell to the ground. As he got to his feet, ignoring his destroyed pride, he looked closer and saw the faint wave of a forcefield surrounding Charles. 

“Nice try, freak,” the man snarled. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Erik looked to his right, anger smoldering in his stomach.

The man watched him from an observation desk protected by glass that Erik knew was bulletproof. 

“Before we go any farther,” the man said. “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” Erik snarled. Then added, “And I don’t care.”

“My name is Andrew Stryker,” the man continued. “I’m sure you know of my father, Colonel William Stryker.” 

Erik gritted his teeth at the name.

“Now, I’m sure you want to know why you’re here. Simple.” Stryker pointed to where Charles lay and Erik watched in horror as a large slab of metal was lowered over his still form. 

“I’m gonna count to three, then released the metal. You’d better catch it, Magneto.”

Fear clenched Erik’s throat at Stryker’s words. He tried to steady his breathing, but the fear only grew. 

“One . . .”

*Please, please no, I can’t do this . . .*

“Two . . .”

*No, no, no, no, no, no, no! I can’t—I can’t . . .* 

He squeezed his eyes shut against the memory of the barrel of a gun, dim lighting, and that hated coin lying on the scuffed table. 

“Three . . .”

Erik reached out with both hands, instinctively catching the metal. Through a haze of fear, he saw the metal hovering inches from Charles’ face.

He had done it. He had saved Charles. He hadn’t failed.

Erik drew back his hand to throw the metal, but a shock went up his legs. It wasn’t enough to disrupt his focus, but the meaning was clear. 

He took a deep breath and planted his feet. He would hold the metal as long as need if doing so kept Charles alive. 

He could do this. He could do this. He had to do this.

Hours blended together. Erik’s arms began to tremble. His stomach growled and he reminded himself he had done more with less food. But he could feel the calories being burnt and briefly wondered how long he could last.

A pulsing headache started to form behind his temples and beads of sweat dripped down his face. Erik didn’t dare move or try to wipe them away. 

After what he guessed had been five hours, his mind started to wander. Inexplicably, it wandered to thoughts of Magda and their children. Erik remembered holding his twin children and singing to them in Polish. It had been so long since he had seen them. Now that he had mended things with Charles, he should check on them. His son would be over twenty years old now, same age as the speedster that had rescued him. 

Before Erik could continue that train of thought, he realized the metal was only inches from Charles. It was with great effort he raised it. 

His focus wavered in and out. Several times, he woke up and found the metal almost crushing Charles. Each time it was harder to lift than before. 

Dull pain shot through his head and he opened his eyes in horror. He was laying on the ground, collapsed in a heap. Erik scrambled to his feet and swayed precariously. He reached out for the metal and it was only then he noticed the figure of Charles flickering inside the rock.

Erik didn’t even have the energy to curse or be angry over the trick that had been played. He sank to the ground, relief flooding his body, and gave himself over to the sweet release of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write. For me, of course. Not for Erik or Charles

Erik awoke to his body shaking and cramping. His teeth chattered, but his skin felt hot and damp. 

There was a plate of food in front of the door, but it might as well have been miles away. Erik could only stare at it in hunger, curling in on himself as his stomach cramped. 

His headache spiked and he groaned, pressing his aching head and body against the cool stone wall. It offered only momentary relief and he kept changing positions in ease the pain. 

Erik floated in and out of consciousness. Hazy shapes and figures surrounded him, muted voice around him. He often dreamed he was back in the camp, with screams penetrating his consciousness. 

“Erik?” 

He opened his eyes. Charles was standing in the door, blood covering his face and clothes.

“Erik?”

“Charles?” Erik asked, thinking the words more than speaking them. “What happened?”

He pulled away his shirt to reveal a bullet hole in his lower abdomen, right where Erik had shot him, but this wound wasn’t on his spine. This one was fatal. 

“You shot me,” Charles said. His eyes grew dark, like dried blood. “You shot me, Erik. This is what happens when I trust a monster like you. You mean nothing to me, Erik. You never have and you never will.”  
Charles turned and walked out the door. 

“No,” Erik gasped, reaching out. “No, Charles, I didn’t mean to. I never meant for you to get hurt. Come back, please!”

But there was nothing. Nothing but silence, broken only by his breathing.

The shivers racking his body grew worse and he clutched his coat tighter around him, wishing for some of his mother’s soup. The door opened and a piece of bread landed in front of his face. Erik reached out with trembling fingers and grabbed it. 

The bread was stale and hard, but it was food, and he ate it all. The cramps in his stomach subsided and he lay his head down, set on getting some sleep.

“Erik.”

His eyes shot open, ice-cold fear rushing through his veins.

“Erik, it’s time to get to work.”

No, no, please God, no.

Erik barely turned his head, afraid of what he would see. 

His waking nightmare walked towards him, a shining scalpel in one hand and a smile across his face.

“Please,” Erik whispered. “Please don’t.”

Shaw’s smile grew and Erik squeezed his eyes shut, praying he would go away.

“Come on, Erik, don’t make me hurt you.”

Erik gritted his teeth and turned his head away. This wasn’t happening, he had killed Shaw, put a coin through his head. This wasn’t real. 

“Oh, I’m afraid this is real. As real as I am.”

A hand brushed the side of Erik’s face and he jerked away, hitting his head on the stone. 

The stone vanished. There was nothing but an empty room, all sterile, metal, clean. And a red banner with that hated symbol on one wall. 

Erik lept to his feet, intent on fighting this time. But his hands were smaller and he felt weaker. The tattoo on his skin was in stark contrast to the white of his thin arm. 

And Shaw was there, looking down on him, testing him, breaking him, shaping him into something different, twisted, monstrous. Erik couldn’t stop him, had never been able to stop him. He was helpless, trapped, scared, and there was no one to save him.

He started when a cool hand placed itself on his neck. His eyes shot open to see a smiling face with Magda’s eyes.

“So you don’t get whiplash,” the person said.

Erik tried to respond, tried to fight, but the world blurred and twisted and went black.


	5. Chapter 5

Hank’s face was the first thing Erik saw when he opened his eyes. 

“Good morning,” Hank said.

Erik tried to glare at him—their relationship never good at the best of times—but was lacking the strength. Then everything that had happened caught up with him and he sat up.

“Charles!”

“Relax,” Hank said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Charles is safe, as are you.”

“What—what happened?” Erik asked, slowly laying back down.

“We never lost track of either of you. When Jean couldn’t find Charles, we sent in the team. We got to you both just in time.”

Erik grabbed the blanket covering him in both fists, determined not to show Hank any weakness. He saw the concern and compassion hidden in Hank’s eyes and looked away. 

“You both slept for over 36 hours.” Hank’s voice had returned to the doctor/all business mode. “You were unconscious with a high fever and Charles has internal bleeding, several broken ribs, and a broken arm.”

The metal in the room groaned and Hank looked at Erik in concern. 

“He’s fine,” Hank said. “However, my equipment might not recover.”

Erik exhaled and the worry on Hank’s face vanished. 

“I wouldn’t try to leave if I were you.” Hank picked up something and turned to go. “You still aren’t fully recovered. Any strenuous tasks and you will relapse.”

Erik nodded, but was already planning his escape. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t see Raven, or look at that Summers boy. He needed to leave. 

With a groan, he sat back up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. To his great relief, he wasn’t in Hank’s sterile lab. Instead, he had been placed in one of the many guest rooms. 

He stood, and gripped the headrest as the world tilted and spun. It was over in an instant, though, and he walked to the bathroom, splashed some water on his face, and grabbed his coat. He quietly eased the door open and slipped through the mansion, his mind recalling all the back doors and servant entrances one could use to go unnoticed. 

By the time he reached the outdoors, he was breathing hard and his head felt light. But it was nothing worse than a hangover, and he forced himself to keep going. 

Erik did admit there was no way he was getting to Genosha in his current state, but he didn’t let that stop him from getting into one of Charles’ cars.

“Amerykańskie Samochody,” Erik spat, trying to recall how to drive in America. His brain didn’t seem to be working and he wiped away a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. 

Exhaustion stole over his body and his eyelids slowly slid shut. Erik leaned his head against the steering wheel. There wouldn’t be anything wrong with resting his eyes for a moment. Besides, you weren’t supposed to drive when you were tired, right?

Someone shouted his name, but their voice was fuzzy and Erik could peacefully ignore it as his mind drifted away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another chapter! Includes free angst!

Someone was singing. It was an old Polish lullaby, but the words were mangled and disjointed, like the singer was reading them off a page. 

A hand brushed against Erik’s, but he barely registered the movement. All he was aware of was the phantoms gathered in the corners of the room. They swirled around him, laughing and mocking, pointing their long, wispy fingers at him.

He cried out and thrashed, trying to dislodge their grasp. Someone’s hands held him down. There was shouting. Someone yelling about medicine and a name.

Peter.

That was the name Magda had picked for their son. His name was Peter Django Maximoff. Erik remembered that now.

The song started again, not as jerky as the first time, and the phantoms were chased away by the lurching melody.   
\--------------------

Warm sunlight fell on his face, piercing through his eyelids. Sounds of protest sounded outside his door.

“I don’t care, Hank!” It was Charles. “I want to make sure he’s okay!”

I’m okay, Erik thought, knowing Charles would hear him. 

And it was the truth. He had managed to sleep soundly and could already feel the fever draining. Whoever had been singing was gone, but the chair they had been using was next to his bed. Erik used it to pull himself to his feet.

The door opened and Charles entered, with Hank following. Erik sat in the chair before Hank could say anything and nodded at Charles.

His friend looked awful. Charles’ right arm was in a cast and a sling, tucked closed to his body. Though he smiled, his face was a mess of black and blue, and he held himself stiffly, trying not to move his ribs.

*You should see yourself,* Charles thought in a wry tone. *You’re no beauty pageant winner either.*

*Out of my head,* Erik said, but the words lacked their usual venom. Truth be told, he was happy having someone else in his mind, someone who knew his demons and could help put them to sleep. The visions he had seen were still to fresh in his mind and he quickly steered his thoughts away before Charles could see what had happened. 

It was too late. 

Charles’ eyes filled with tears and he looked at Erik. 

*What . . .?* It was a breathless question.

*You had your pain, I had mine,* Erik replied.

Hank lightly coughed and they both turned to face him. “I just wanted to tell you both there is no permanent damage to either of your bodies or minds. With proper rest”—he stared long and hard at Erik— “You both should recover with no side effects.”

A blur sped into the room, slowing down to reveal the speedster, his sliver hair a mess.

“You’re both awake,” he said, avoiding Erik’s gaze.

“And you learned Polish,” Erik responded.

His guess was correct. The speedster—Peter, he was assuming—dipped his head and scuffed the floor with his shoe. 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Well, you were so sick and I didn’t know what to do and Raven told me you were Polish and Google has a really good translator, so I thought I would sing and maybe that would help you sleep better because you were having a lot of nightmares. Almost took my head off,” he smirked, pushing away his hair to reveal a quickly-healing cut.

“Don’t worry,” he said quickly before Erik could say anything. “I heal quick. Part of my power, so in a day or too, there won’t even be a scar.”

Erik breathed a sigh of relief, thankful he hadn’t hurt anyone else. 

“Did you catch Stryker?” he asked.

Peter nodded. “Yep. Put up a fight too, but he wasn’t so happy with Jean in his mind and Kurt holding him above a cliff.”

Hank winced as Charles rounded on them. 

“You threatened him?” Charles demanded.

“What else was I supposed to do?” Peter asked.

“Not threaten him!”

“Well, next time you walk in somewhere and see your teacher and father lying on the ground, both close to death, you can do something different!”

There was a gust of wind and Peter was gone. 

“I’m going to . . . go . . . see Raven,” Hank stuttered, practically running from the room.

Father. Erik’s tired mind was still stuck on that word. It made sense, really, but he was too tired now to deal with it.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, slowly getting to his feet. “You should too.”

Charles nodded. “I will, but first there’s some things I need too—”

“Now, Charles.”

“If you insist.”

Erik kept his mind on Charles’ wheelchair until he was sure he was going to his room and not his office. Then lay back down and allowed a smile to steal across his face.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the boys having a discussion.

“You’re a weapon, a monster. No one would ever love you.”

Erik tossed and turned, the phantoms surrounding him hissing those words.

“Weapon.” Shaw’s face materialized but vanished just as quickly.

“Jew.” Helmeted guards laughed and punched, not caring he was a child.

“Monster.” It was Charles. He had finally pushed Erik away; had run out of the forgiveness and goodness he had always shown him.

“NO!” Erik shouted, sitting up.

He was not a monster or a weapon. He was free, he was his own person, no one was in charge of him.

He was free.

But not from the pain.

Erik needed to take a walk. He pulled on a jacket, and quietly left the mansion. Laughter floated from somewhere in the mansion, but it wasn’t close and Erik wasn’t concerned.

He walked through the yard and lay down in the grass, staring up at the stars. The night sky was large and endless, and Erik felt a bit better, no longer surrounded by his demons.

“Erik?”

The soft whine of Charles’ wheelchair sounded behind him. Charles stopped right next to him and sighed.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Nightmare,” Erik said flatly.

“I could help.”

Erik propped himself up on one elbow and looked at Charles, making sure their eyes met. “Some things you can’t help with.”

“You don’t have to carry it by yourself,” Charles said, looking hard at Erik. “There are people who would be glad to help you.”

“Like you?”

“And Peter, and Raven. You are not alone, Erik.”

Those words echoed in his mind and reminded him of dark water and anger and Charles pulling him to the surface and saying those exact words. 

“I know.” 

Erik lay back down and watched the sky slowly turn from black to blue to gold with his closest friend in the world and the knowledge that he was safe and there were those who cared for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading all of this! And I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
